Do No Harm

            I love this concept, this idea, this way of being of doing no harm. But lets be honest how often are we doing harm when we think we are doing good. I love quinoa, its great, its nutty I can use it like rice for a different flavor, and its whole wheat. Its good for me, but its not good for the farmers of it.  Because of its recent growth in popularity the price of it has shot up and now the people growing it can’t afford to eat it.  So in doing myself no harm, I am harming others.         But really what I see from do no harm is rather do the least amount of harm possible.  We are humans, we do harm its in our being. But sometimes its doing the least amount of harm in order to do good, the third rule. In supervised ministry, I get a lot of flack from my classmates about my feeling on this. My professor this semester happens to agree with me that it’s about harm reduction.

            My most recent encounter with this and one that I think about often  is my internship at the food pantry. The pantry has limits on how much each family size can pick, such as a family of 1 person can get six cans of soup, and a family of 5 people get 12 cans of soup. The food pantry is meant to be supplemental to food stamps, other government benefits, and to help you save money elsewhere (i.e. the money you don’t spend on food to feed your family can go to help pay your mortgage so you don’t become homeless).  Now most of our clients are so very thankful and do not try to buck the system. But there are a few who do. So in doing the perhaps harming them in a small way by telling them they can not take more soup then there allotment, I create good elsewhere by making sure that there is soup for everyone who needs it.

            But likewise sometimes I do just cause harm even though I don’t mean it.  I was training a new shopper (we are a client choice pantry where it is set up like a grocery store and clients get to chose there food from the category’s and within limits), and I was explaining the meats and meals section. This is where you find spagetio-s and caned meets. 

            “So this is where caned chicken and stuff like that is. I guess that you might find caned turkey here as well. I’ve never seen it though” I said.

            “Its good” says the client we are shopping with “you can do a lot with it”

I felt so stupid and that I had done a great amount of harm. Showing my privilege in my lifetime of never having to eat caned turkey, or caned any meat.  But in that moment I learned that the client was doing the least amount of harm to me. She could have reacted a lot differently, but she was doing good. Taking what could have been a very hurtful moment and making it into a teaching moment.

Staying in love with God...?

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I have been reflecting a lot recently on the section of “stay in love with God” from Three Simple Rules, a way of Wesleyan Living by Ruben P. Job. I have read it three times, once for me, once for pastoral formation and once again for supervised ministry. The rules are simple, do no harm, do good, and stay in love with God.  Now I have trouble doing all three, and argue quite vehemently about ‘do no harm’ as interpreted to ‘do the least amount of harm possible’ I’m not very popular with my classmates when I argue this point. I digress this is for another post. 

            But staying in love with God has been the hardest for me lately. As those of you following my blog have hopefully figured out, its been a crapy 15 months for me.  But for me the struggle with my mood disorder, and the complete disorder of my relationship with God and my own spirituality and faith has been heavy on my heart.  I say that I am angry at God, but that is the way to place a word to far more complex problems.  It’s a wondering, a wandering, a hopeing, a where the F* are you God!, and Hi God its me Betty, I’m leaving a voice mail…

            So I am trying to do my best to stay in love with God. Acting in a way that reflects the morals and values that I hold dear, trying my best to lift people out of the mess with there help. Trying to teach good, not evil and encouraging others in there own faith journey. But how do I stay in love with God when I wonder where God went. I know that God is, and that God loves me. But I miss the days when I knew God was around me.  It also does not help that I am trying to figure this all out well in Seminary, where God is 90% of the time the focus of academics. Even outside of the class room God is always in the conversation as we whine about our theology, bible, and practical theology classes, asking do we really need to know this random stuff about The Investiture Controversy?*

            So how does one stay in love with God when your not quite sure what that is now, how to let go of what it was, and how to mold it for the future?

                                                                                                               

*Throwback to Church History I, the main thing I remember from this class, in terms of uselessness for the history of the Church… (maybe it will be on Jeopardy some day)

How Holy the Conversation

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        I started working at a food pantry at the start of January to fulfill the requirements of my supervised ministry class. I was unsure of it as this is something I have never ever considered as a site for ministry, for me. But I love it already. I do intake interviews, shop with clients as we are a client choice pantry(items are out on shelves and clients get to chose the variety of the item. I.e. tomato soup not clam chowder), and find and refer resources to clients. Today I finished the first incarnation of the big bad book of referrals and resources. Its about 2 inches thick of paper, I also got to give my first referrals from it! I would post a picture but I forgot to take one today!

            As someone who often looks to the very ordinary as evidence of the Divine, I was reminded of this again. I had a very holy moment with a client today as we both shared a lot in common, I was able to use my knowable to help steer her to some resources. Then we went shopping; I encouraged her to keep up with her hard work and acknowledged her strength in asking for help. We talked about what could be done with the food items, like beans and rice, blueberry cobbler and so on. As we where checking out she asked how long I had been there and I told her three weeks, She was amazed and asked me what bought me to the pantry. I told her it was my internship for my M.Div and then we had a conversation about faith. I had already felt a kinship with her the moment she walked into the office for the interview but then she affirmed she felt it too.

            It was a warm reminder of just how holy the work I’m doing is. I was struggling a bit to see the connection between food pantry and ministry other then ‘they are hungry feed them, Jesus told us to’. But it is more then that it is the conversations, the affirmation of a persons strengths, the reaffirm that they are the beloved of Gods. Yes that is the ministry of the pantry

Geting Brave

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*warning I drop an Fbomb in here*      

   This January term I am taking a class called “Ministry with Persons with Disability’s”, so far I am loving it. Today we talked about my area of passion Mental Illness/ Behavioral Health. We had a speaker in the morning who is an educator and pastor in the field of cognitive disability’s and mental health he also known the pain of depression. In the afternoon our instructor gave us a PowerPoint presentation and a women asked the question “why don’t people just tell”. I felt that pesky Holy Spirit rising in my stomach and told it to quiet down. But she went on and another classmate gave her answer and then the Holy Spirit burst forth and called me to tell my story.

            Telling your story of MI, is something painful, courageous, daring, stupid and a host of many other things.  I told they good the bad and the ugly. I discussed how I lost my job, got discriminated against in the seminary by people who I thought would care because they are Pastors by profession. And just how wrong I was. How I was wounded deeply by the church cut to my core, and how I felt that I could not go to church again because I was afraid to get hurt again the way I got hurt in the past. As a seminarian I know that one church does not reflect the entirety of the UMC or the whole Christian church, but it got me thinking about those not as ‘hearty’ with the stupidity of the church saying ‘fuck this shit’ and walking away forever. This hurts me even more then my personal wounding.

            But with the assistance of that dam pesky Holy Spirit, I got brave and preached it. I was not intending to preach it. My classmates thanked me for speaking out and offered encouragement. But also knew the grim reality’s that I and others like me might face in the shadow of the church.

            My favorite Gospel is Mark. I like how its quick and dirty and Jesus just does what needs to get done, its not flowery or sweet with a nativity story its dirty! Its messy, its crazy. Its also the gospel of the dimwitted disciples(another post to be made). But most importantly it’s the gospel of courage to me.

            Mark 16: 1-8, the original ending of Mark, recounts how the women came to do the final tending of the grave of Jesus. But then a young man dressed in white tells them

 “⁶But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him.”

They end up running away in amazement and terror. But something happened, Marks not the only book that makes up the New Testament. We have acts, we have Paul’s letters and the other pastorals, so they must have told someone.  That or we have an elaborate fairy tales on our hands.  But I think that it is more that they took the courage of the faith they had in Jesus who was a great prophet to them, maybe they knew he was God.  They where likely still afraid and I would be, but they decided that faith was greater then fear. That the courage to share that faith was more important then the fear. 

       I am still afraid of a lot of things regarding my MI, how will I manage it as someone who will be losing there parents insurance in two years, might I have to go inpatient, how will I afford this, will the church let me ‘in’, can I get ordained, can I get a job in ministry, can I get a job period? Lots of fears will my potential future children have MI like me. Could I willfully and knowingly bring that upon a child?           

  But it takes all of my courage to walk on, to know that I will manage. I will make it work; I will find a church that will ordain me, a job in ministry. It will happen. It might not happen in the way I expect it to or plan it at all, but I have to have the courage to know that it will somehow work out. 

    

Panik Yüklü

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       So I have a confession, I love tattoos. I think they are a beautiful form of artwork that is unique not only to the tattoo artist but also to the person who chose the tattoo to be placed on their body. As they say tattoos are permanent, not coming out completely even with surgery. So when I make the decision to have one placed upon my body it had better have a dam good reason for being there.  My most recent tattoo is “Panik Yüklü” on my left wrist. It means don’t panic in Turkish.  Now the story I tell people about this tattoo is somewhat bland. But the real story is so much more interesting.

            So Turkey has always been a place that I have wanted to go to. I can’t tell you why, but I knew in my soul that I needed to go to Turkey.  It’s been a gut feeling since my freshman year of high school, I HAD TO GO. So when the opportunity presented itself in in-between the summer of my second and third year of seminary I knew it was mine for the taking. When I signed up for the class in December I had no clue what changes where coming my way in-between then and May. Facing many of my demons challenged my ability to go to Turkey. It was unsure if I was going to be able to go.  But with a lot of strength and being a pest to the person who decided, I was able to go.

October 2012

           

I do have terrible anxiety, I’m told its Generalized Anxiety Disorder,(GAD) and Panic Disorder. And I was already anxious about going to Turkey and having to be ‘perfect’ in terms of my moods and not have any epic meltdowns. Because I was a ten-hour plane ride from my therapist, and a 3AM phone call would not have been appreciated. So each day was a challenge to me, but it was so very much worth it. It was an amazing trip. The trip of a lifetime, yes I did get a carpet that I love very much. But on our second to last day in Turkey we where headed into the European side of Istanbul and one of my friends on the trip with us tripped on a turnstile and got very flustered. A transit worker was standing nearby and yelled ‘panik yuklu!’ to us. Unsure of what he said we asked our professor and she translated it as don’t panic.  It took me several weeks to think of the powerful message that this man had said to us.

May 2012 w/Emily and Susan

            I continued to panic nearly everyday for the next three months, but I worked and work very hard to check my anxiety and know my triggers.  But ‘Panik Yüklü’ stuck with me. So I decided to get it as a visual reminder where I would see it a lot.  I when to the tattoo shop when they where having a fundraiser for 11^th Hour Rescue, a rescue group for dogs about to be put down. So I felt good about it all the way around.  This one hurt a little more then my other two that are on my ankles. But it was good pain (ah the curse of tattoos, they only hurt badly for a bit! And you don’t remember that bad hurt). I watched the ink seep into my skin and knew I had made the right choice.

            All of my tattoos have a spiritual meaning to me, my Jesus fish and my red balloon. The red balloon and panic yuklu have the most meaning because the represent triumph for me. Having the courage to tackle my demons, to face them and to not let fear be my basis for life. For me courage is the bedrock for faith. This is why the gospel of Mark is my favorite. When you read the true ending, you don’t know Jesus was resurrected. But the disciples had the courage to trust that they had experienced something, supernatural. However they still had the courage to follow Jesus’ instructions to them. To go into the unknown, to go places that are potentially very dangerous, yucky, and a host of other un-pleasantry’s. This is my type of faith that we don’t know the plan and it requires trust and courage to go forth. Courage requires the ability to not freak out all the time but rather to ‘Panik Yüklü’.

God is a Knitter

Even God is a knitter (in addition to being a potter, an artist, a poet, fire, and lots of other creative pursuits). The Psalmst tells us,

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank You for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous-how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in Your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.”

Psalm 139:13-16

As I wrap gifts for CHRISTmas this year for the first time ever I get to give a ‘grown up’ handmade gift. Not an ornament, not a foot angel but a scarf. Last winter I got the fantastic idea that I was going to learn how to knit. I had done it before so really it was just going to be getting back on the bicycle. How wrong I was, knitting for me was not like getting on a bicycle, or maybe it was as learning how to ride a bike for me was very difficult but more on that another time.  After a tense December for a multitude of reasons I looked upon January as a time of new beginnings, a way to restart to learn something new.

            Again I had no idea just what I was getting myself into. Susan who taught me how to knit and I would sit on Sunday nights and watch ABC’s Once Upon a Time and knit together. Even though she taught me our techniques where different but both still produced knitting. She was a knitter who would rip out messed up stitches and I would just let them be. I’m not really sure why I did not feel the need to rip the stitches out. Granted in my first scarf this led to a HUGE hole. But she also told me that knitting reflects the state of our souls. I think of knitting as an embodied prayer, the clacking of the two sticks together the conversations that go on during group knitting, the bumping of hands that meet when trying to show how to hold the needles just right. That first scarf became a goal scarf for me; it was a sign that I could do something good, after a time of feeling that I was only capable of failure.

            But back to the Christmas scarf, I started this scarf in my room at Drew casting on 30 stitches. Then knitted a few rows in the international terminal at JFK, a few more rows in Antakya Turkey, then some more on the road between Tarus and Nevisher Turkey. More on the Turkey trip some other time. Then I got home and worked on it on and off, trying to work out my frustrations with life in those sticks and fiber. Trying to knit the holes of my own life together. I had thought from the start that I would give this scarf away. But about half way though I wondered how I could give this scarf to anyone with all of these broken feelings that I had fed into it in the process of turning it into a scarf.

            But then I thought of the person I was giving it to. Someone who fully gets the brokenness that I feel, for they have felt it also.  Working to battle the holes and the frustrations, the sadness but likewise the joy that I worked into that scarf. So I give this scarf to this person with all of this, knowing that all of the individual stitches work together to create rows of bumps, that form into inches, that form into the scarf. Knowing that this person and I are knitted together forever in our souls just like this scarf.

Shattered Moments

So this week well writing my report to my church on my process to ordination, I was conflicted. I have long had the benefit of having a loving supportive sending church, who have proven there support in many ways. But how could I quite tell time, I am really struggling with my call, who I am, and how I believe in God. I was warned that I would face my ‘seminary crisis’ everyone does. I escaped my first year and a half (four and a half semesters! Fall, January, Spring, Summer, and almost my second Fall) without it becoming apparent to me.

Then life as it has a tendency to hit me in the face, getting hit at my job as a chaplain at a psych hospital. Then an important person to me became severely ill and was in the hospital for the entire month of December. I started then to shield the truth from a lot of people. This tormented me, because I like to be a straight shooter.

            Then Jan. Term rolled around and I took a class called “Ministry and the Imagination: Come Holy Spirit”. Well I think that class opened me up to the roller coaster ride that was going to be the next several months. We discussed the qualities of the Holy Sprit and how she is a pest. I talked about how I saw her roosting in places you would not expect. I felt incredibly close to her then. But suddenly I stopped feeling close to her and to God. Being who I am, I was doing 15 credits at school, and working two part time jobs. I was sure I could handle it; I always had in the past.

            I started to slowly fall apart; it was sleeping a little more, crying a lot more, not doing my homework because I had no energy. I was getting to involved with patients emotionally, brining work home, and starting to wonder where God had gone in my life. I loved school and I loved my hospital job. But somehow I had forgotten to love me.I was starting to crack.

            I cracked and had a complete meltdown that knocked me out of my status quo for two weeks. But also kept me from living and just kept me existing. I went from cracked and broken to shattered, in the matter of a few weeks. 

       How do I tell the people above my home church who discern my call to the church. They want people who are not shattered, broken is ok, but shattered not so much. I am still hopeful that my ordination will happen someday. But how long will it take, will it be in the tradition that I love (most of the time)?

            So what do I tell them, I tell them that its been challenging, I tell them about my classes, how I learned how to knit, the process but keeping it all vague. Shielding the truth again. I dislike it but until we have a church that truly wants shattered people these fears of mine will continue for me and countless others.